


Mrs. Jowd keeps rolling on

by laughingpineapple



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Sexswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of RP-induced ficlets focusing on my own femJowd and my friends' characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glass refractions

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's the gal](http://might-as-well-laugh.tumblr.com/), a pre-game-but-not-in-jail sexswapped Jowd. She chose to stand by Kamila and clear her father's death as an accident instead of taking the blame. She then resigned to take care of her child, but hasn't stopped looking for the truth along with her career-driven bestie. Of course she found out said truth within five minutes from her first encounter with a Yomiel in-game... now she's working on resetting her timeline and getting her happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her partner here is a Gant-like, somewhat subtle take on the blackcoat Cabs what-if fanon - who also speaks with the German Cabanela’s quirks because he wasn’t ridICULOUS enough al-rea-dy, baby.

 

The bartender hasn't kicked them out yet, which is so very considerate of her. She's even stopped shooting them glances after Cabanela, en route to fetch his black coat from the hanger (“Aren't you cold, baby?” “It's still summer, last I checked” “Just silly old me, then!”), stopped by the counter and exchanged a few choice words she didn't catch. He must be a regular.

The one who hasn't stopped staring is the man himself, Jowd figures as she lets the last ice cube in her drink click softly against the glass. She's observed, compared, studied, understood. She's leaning on the table, elbows sprawled with no resemblance of class and dignity, and his gaze is a distinct feeling tingling between her shoulder blades.

She'd be glad to return the favour, of course – there's so much of him she still doesn't understand, details she cannot place, and it's become their favourite little game, this picking and guessing. She'd return the favour if her mind felt clear enough to understand a thing, that is. She's in no mood for witticisms; for now, she's got to stick to sensations. Feelings. Of the sort she usually shuts out with clear-cut logic, for better or for worse. And the first in line is a sinking certainty that this man is dangerous: it's hidden between the lines somewhere, covered by all that black, and it makes her skin crawl. Getting burned once wasn't enough, Jowd?

She tugs at the loose ends of his green and white thread bracelet, toying with the frayed yarn. But that thing can't lie, can it? It's proof, it's a fact, and as a detective, she'd rather base her judgement on what she sees than on vague vibes. It's a symbol of friendship and a proud one at that. A guarantee that everything is right.

 

“Hey.” A yawn catches her off guard and she bites her lips trying to gather her thoughts again – it wasn't a hard question, now where was she, ah right, “How comes you're still sober? Body mass works in my favour, mister. That's cheating.”

“Weeell. Practice makes p-e-r-f-e-c-t!” Cabanela raises his glass in a toast, balances it on two finger, then one, catches it with the other hand as if it were a vanishing trick and slams it back on the table. Not a drop is spilled. “Or so they say, baby. Thought I'd find you steadier on your feet. Does the – how was it? – department's fabled Cheshire Kitten want to go home before all that's left of her is a smile?”

His shin resounds a dull, satisfactory “thud” on full impact against her heel, cutting off any closing cutesies with a yelp – for her part, keeping her eyes fully open is not an option, but his faux-pas sobers her up enough to make her straighten her back and frown.

“You wouldn't call _him_ 'kitten'.”

“You think? Try me[.](http://img823.imageshack.us/img823/8684/glassreflcommentary.png) I will, juuust for you.”

Jowd snorts.

“...'you' p-l-u-r-a-l, baby.”

Decent save. “Permission to kick back soon as it happens. Keep me posted.”

 

 


	2. Make do(nut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chatting with a pre-game Tengo. He hasn't received the order to kill her daughter yet, she doesn't know that it's these specific blue guys who killed or attempted to kill her daughter in so many other worlds, so they're good for now.

 

 

Tengo's coffee is still fuming as the woman strides back to their table, stuffing her wallet back in her purse and unceremoniously shoving the latter halfway into one of her coat's pockets. 'Wait there', she said minutes earlier, rushing to the counter and sure, he can camp in that damn cafe for all he cares, it's not like he has anything better to do – which is, as a matter of fact, the entirety of his current predicament. He's cut off. From the organization, from updates on his assignment, from accounting and the oh-so-urgent fixes to his paycheck. It took him five attempts to come to terms with the fact that the phone had started relaying him to this world's owners of their telephone numbers: an antique shop, a sleep talker, two barbers and a sassy ten-year-old seemed too elaborate a prank for even Dandy to pull off. Now if this were indeed Dandy's doing, tracking him down and punching him would bring some level of comfort. As is, he's ended up sitting at a cafe table, chatting about the weather and the multiverse with a woman he's barely met on the internet. Classy. Well, about chicken more than the weather (multidimensional chicken, even) and he's not quite sure when and how the conversation shifted. And then she gave him A Look and she up and left. And came back in a hurry.

 

"Now shut up."

What is she, his mother? But he doesn't have time to reply before she grabs his hand with an iron grip, places a giant, chocolate-glazed chocolate donut on his palm, closes his fingers around it and guides it right under his nose.

“This'll help.”

It smells good, at the very least. And once the surprise settles in, he does find himself leaning back on his seat, shoulders relaxing, mind more focused on the pastry than on his situation. Nice call, mom – he supposes he can be a good boy and follow orders for as long as it's convenient. Story of his life.

"I didn't _say_ anything, madam."

"Criminals don't say anything either, but it's a detective's job to catch them all the same."

Tengo raises an eyebrow behind his glasses. Her body language doesn't show any traces of a hidden meaning, it's fair to assume that his cover's still up – it doesn't look more serious than an unfortunate metaphor and gods, does the lady ever seem to have a penchant for those.

"I've got a friend like this", she adds as an explanation.

"Stuck in another world, with no means to contact home? A deplorable coincidence. My condolences."

"I mean always planning ahead. Bit paranoid for control. Staying close to the present doesn't hurt, you know."

"My career doesn't like to stay anywhere."

"Then train her better, dear. It looks like it can already jump through hoops, make her sit and stay.”

“Very funny.”

“Isn't it. It's always so very amusing when this happens.”

He supposes this is his cue to just give up and let her talk, because damn if he has a clue where she's going with this. He's betting that's nowhere he'd agree with.

“This not having power over your life. Pouting won't lead you anywhere, mister, losing contact happens around here. I once went one week without being able to call my daughter, your employer will understand. If not, well, that's life for you. You can always set up a bakery around here. One Strudel Ahead. How's it sound?”

“Not reassuring, madam.” He grins.

“Life rarely does!”

 

Then he gets Another Look. A Deep, Meaningful Look, except she's cocking her head with a half smile he's learning to recognize.

"Wait. You and your steps ahead – this wasn't all an elaborate ploy to snatch a free donut, was it?"

"...maybe."

"Good."


	3. Safe call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With her world's Pigeon Man. Much like canon Jowd for as long as he was out of jail, she never stopped seeing the Prof even after he resigned from the police to study his meteorite in peace. She eventually introduced him to her Cabanela and they fancy themselves his adoptive daughters of sorts.

 

 

Soon, it's all too soon, she shouldn't have relied on that stupidly comforting time frame and now she's tailed by the familiar shape of one of the organization's hitmen, her only weapon a vague recollection of every trick in the book. From the hound's side, not the hare's. Probably archaic too.

On the other hand, her pursuer mustn't be terribly up to date either, she concludes hours later as she shakes him off near the edge of town, but the chase means that she's out of time: this ghost hunt ends and it ends now.

She catches her breath far from the harsh lights of the street lamps, reorganizing her thoughts. Too late for buses and she wouldn't risk being trapped in a closed-off space. Her first stop is within an hour's walk.

 

“Professor!”

No reply. Gods, he's a target too, the dog said so. Would they go for him first? Why? Then again, why not? She taps against the door's thick metal.

“Professor, open this door! Professor! Come on, I didn't die for this!”

“Unlikely”, says the voice on the other side. Footsteps; the click of a light being switched on. She feels scanned from over the spyhole and sighs in relief. “From a purely objective standpoint, Jowd, you seem fine.”

“I said I died, not that I still am.”

“'s not urgent then. Not that it would have been if you were a corpse.”

“I need your help to find a man!”

“I appreciate that you're distressed or you'd be one to watch your wording, young lady, but Lovey Dove needs her beauty sleep and so do I. Come in, we'll talk in the morning. You can get the couch.”

“Professor!”

“It's well past midnight! Give me one reason I should help you with this. One reason. You're not the boss of me anymore, you know. Get it through your thick skull.”

Ah, good. He's cracking. She knows the answer to this one.

“Science!”, she says, showing a smug grin as the door creaks and her old friend's pointy nose peeks out, careful like a bird before seeds.

“You”, he threatens with a most unconvincing scowl, and back they go to their fixed comedy roles. How she'd missed his pointed fingers. “You and your womanly wiles! I'm in. Who are we looking for?”

“If I know you, and I do, the name Yomiel must still ring a bell...”


End file.
